sage of the wicked
by noirshitsuji
Summary: ...because let's be honest, he's not likely to rest even when he's dead; a sample of Ed's adventures in the West (and, technically, beyond). Crack, obviously.


_**sage of the wicked**_

Ed went west to find alchemy that can cure chimaeraism (chimerism? chimaeration? chimerization? whatever) and ended up discovering alchemy that allows its users to time-travel because _of course he would._

It would have all been well, too, if the particular brand of alchemist-renegades he'd stumbled upon had _not _decided to use it to get rid of him because he'd discovered they were not, in fact, behaving like responsible adults about it (_I get it, it was his favourite teddy-bear, but is it __really_ _worth risking the whole space-time continuum for?_), but sadly, that was _also just his luck_.

Even more unfortunate was the fact that the, ah, _extremely intelligent human being _(who had totally not stolen the technique from a far more advanced brethren) had also ended up displacing him in _space_.

He had to say, though – Xerxes really was quite impressive. It was weird seeing people who could potentially murder him and easily take his place as clones all over, but nice, nevertheless.

As he walked through the marketplace at leisure (for he'd already foreseen that something like this could happen as soon as he exposed the band and had preemptively figured out a way back) and looked around, feeling more touristy than he had on all his travels with Al, he crashed headfirst into–ah, shit.

_Of course_ it would be his father, who else? And with the damn Dwarf, no less.

For a moment, Ed seriously considered just smashing the flask and saving the lives of a few million people, but he a) didn't want to risk a paradox, and b) would _like _to be born, thank you very much.

He smiled sheepishly at Hohenheim (who was the most serious contender for being his clone – apples and trees, was it?), who just stared at him, apparently also weirded out by their similarity (even though he had lived among potential clones his entire life; Ed at least had an excuse).

"Ah, excuse me, I'm just wandering around the place, didn't see you."

"Ah, no problem," his father smiled and something in Ed made a whiny noise that it hadn't since he'd been three, "is this your first time in the capital?"

"Yeah, very first…"

"Well, then, I suppose I could give you a tour if you'd like? I have some free time before I have to get back to my alchemy lessons."

"Oh, alchemy? Cool. I'm an alchemist, too. Kind of. Sort of. Used to be."

"What?"

"Nevermind. Thanks for the offer, but, um, I'm fine, yeah."

"Okay, if you say so. I'll be on my way, then, too," and with that, Hohenheim went by him to go in the direction Ed had come from.

With sudden courage, he grabbed his father's arm, stared into his eyes, and said "Wait. Uh, thank you. For everything."

And then he bailed.

* * *

It was really weird, not having any gate in the white, open space of "truth", but then again, it's not like he'd considered the aesthetic appeal of the place when he'd made the decision to trade his alchemy for his brother. Mostly because he hadn't expected he'd be here again (if he had, well...one more automail wouldn't hurt his relationship with Winry, no? _joking, joking, relax_), but here he was, another deranged researcher, morally questionable scientific community, and Slap-of-Fate (TM) later.

This time, though, Truth didn't exact a toll on him for being there – for whatever reason, though Ed's bet was on the World being tired of his bullshit, too – and seemed to be in the mood for chatting, if the last half an hour (if time really did pass in this place, that is) indicated anything. Really, only tea and biscuits were missing.

"By the way, I take issue with what you said back then."

Ed blinked. He said an awful lot of things that an awful lot of people took issue with an awful lot of the time, but a) this was the first time the World itself had outrightly said it had something against him (which wasn't really revelation of the century, come to think of it) and b) he had no idea what Truth could possibly be referring to.

"Sorry, what?"

"See, you're very self-righteous in general, which I don't mind, really, it's kind of cute," at that Ed's eye twitched, though even he wasn't quite sure if it was due to annoyance or _deep disturbance_, "but taking Mustang's vision _was _fair, actually, given the fact that _he did open the gate._"

"Yes, but it was unwillingly–"

"See, this is your problem, Edward Elric," Ed stared at him, thinking his face looked as dumb as Truth probably thought him to be. "You think the circumstances matter. They don't. If they did, then _every _human transmutation could be excused. 'Oh, they're just kids who have no family and just want to see their mother again', 'But it wasn't _her _fault she lost the child', 'But-but-but…' – you see, this is why there is no discrimination. And don't start on the whole 'free will' bullshit," Truth added, seeing Ed open his mouth again. "I can't believe you still think that even _matters _in the long run."

Ed (and this was likely the fifth time in his life he was doing this, if he was counting correctly) decided to submit to the authority opinion and keep his mouth shut on the matter. "You done?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Since you seem quite intent on imparting wisdom today, could you please tell me–"

"Sorry, you're going to have to figure out the reverse transmutation for chimaeras yourself. I will give you a hint though – think general corporal disassembly, but more careful."

"...son of a–"

"What kind of conditioner do you use?"

Ed stared at his capturer, dumbfounded. "Excuse me?"

"I said, _what kind of conditioner do you use? _You have better hair than I do _and I am a multimillionaire heiress._"

He opened his mouth to say that that was the most bizarre thing an enemy had ever said to him...but then remembered the homunculi and their rule to always 'speak and act from the soul' because their victims were dead within minutes anyway, and closed it.

Sighing, he dramatically got out a piece of paper from his pocket (which had totally not been next to the sheets where he'd been drawing a map of the base, as he remembered it, and devising an escape plan) and started writing down the ingredients for Winry's homemade hair conditioner. She'd made him memorise the recipe after she'd discovered he not only maintained his automail badly but also his entire body; it had been supplemented with a guide on proper nutrition (with milk written in bold and underlined) and a first-aid kit. All of this had helped him confirm his theory that Al's body, while in the gate, had had a connection to his because _nobody _who had spent several years with zero hygiene could conceivably smell of dandelions and have hair with near the volume of Heinkel's _mane. _

* * *

Later, when he'd rejoined his current travelling buddies (none of which, thank Truth, had yet been killed, psychologically broken, or physically impaired), Kol, their cook and designated joker, asked him, "So how did they lure you in their trap? Did that girl seduce you, or…?"

"Nah, I went in on purpose."

"...so their base blowing up was part of the plan?"

"Yes, though at a later stage than expected; still, I got what I wanted."

"...okay. I still believe she seduced you though."

"Think what you will, she's not my type."

"Oh? What _is _your type? Do you have some weird kink or something?"

Larce, their resident _actual_ alchemist (as he missed no opportunity to remind Ed, who usually proceeded to either a) promptly kick his ass or b) also remind him he was their resident _only _virgin (even if he wasn't, but that was none of Larce's business)) piped in. "He's a masochist with a fetish for head-beating."

Ed's face turned every shade of the rainbow in a matter of two seconds, but once his eyes got a red gleam in them and his smile widened beyond what was physically possible, Larce though that he maybe shouldn't have said that.

"Oh? Well, I guess I could say the same about you, then–"

* * *

"Hello? Ah, _the Fullmetal Alchemist himself_, what an honour–"

"Cut it out, Mustang. Plus, I'm not an alchemist anymore."

"Maybe not in fact, but in your heart–"

"–and I'm leaving, it was nice hearing from you–"

"Aw, come on, Ed. Seriously, how are you? How's the West?"

"It's fine, nothing out of the usual."

"...That most certainly means it is _not _fine."

"Eh, you know. Nothing we haven't dealt with. Listen, I'm calling you because I've asked Winry to go up to Central and give you that money back, she should be there in two days at noon, be sure to have someone meet her."

"I'll do it myself. Why are you giving it back, though, I thought you were going to do that when I'm Führer?"

"Oh, no, that's not the money I'm giving back; it's the money I was supposed to give you back once you made this country a democracy."

"...and you don't want that anymore?"

"Roy, have you _seen _democracy in practice? Because I'm in Eada right now and this country is a _shit show_. It's even more corrupted than Amestris was in certain aspects and we were being ruled by a thousand-year-old aerosol and his attention-starved monster kids."

"...Now that sounds like something I'd like to see in practice."

"Don't you _dare–_"

"Don't worry, I won't. Well, glad that's off of the agenda."

"Were you actually going to do it, though?"

"Yes. Anyway, since Winry's coming, I'll ask the lieutenant if she can stay with her for a couple of days."

"Yeah, okay–wait."

"What?"

"You said she'd stay with the lieutenant. Not with _you _and the lieutenant, just with Hawkeye?"

"...Yes?"

"...You know what? Forget it, I'm calling Winry. You can have that money back when you have the balls to actually ask Riza to officially become your girlfriend (though you can aim for wife at this point, but I'll cut you some slack). Bye, Roy."

"Fullmetal, wait–"

* * *

One would think Ed came back home once he'd found the cure to chimaerism (as he'd optioned, in the end, to call it), but he hadn't; he had an idea as to what he could do, though, and for that he only needed all the books on medical alchemy he could possibly fit into his house (or Winry's house, whatever) and silence.

Then they would think it was because he'd grown bored of travelling; he hadn't, and he probably never would.

The next assumption would be that his companions had finally driven him over the edge; complete nonsense, considering Edward Elric had always been a paragon of virtue and patience (with a constant supply of non-lethal ways to cause pain).

Then, he must miss Winry?

No, he'd grown used to missing her, as sad (and _masochistic_) as that sounded; and he quite liked not being beaten in the head with a wrench, _actually_.

What, then, had it been that had made Edward Elric, Hero of the people of Amestris, youngest State Alchemist pensioner and honourable Sage of the Wicked go back home?

It had been one morning when he'd woken up with an insane craving for _apple pie._

* * *

**A/N: Shoutout to my sis who made me rewatch Brotherhood. And yes, I do believe the homunculi are extremely attention-starved. I have no apologies.**


End file.
